


Baghdad 2008. There was a blue box across the street.

by Perrito



Category: Doctor Who, Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perrito/pseuds/Perrito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor finds Peter just before Olivia does. AU set pre-series for Fringe, and sometime during Eleven's run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Iraq 2008

There was a blue box across the street, clearly visible from his hotel room's window. Peter was sure the box hadn't been there that morning when he'd left, he was sure because the box was, by far, the most conspicuous thing he had ever seen. He stared at it from his window for a long time, wondering what on Earth a British police box from the 60's was doing in Iraq, and perhaps most importantly, why not a single bystander had stopped to look at it. By dinner time he decided to take a look at it himself. Worst case scenario, it was some sort of trap, and if it was, whoever had set it up deserved to catch _someone._

He walked downstairs and just before he crossed the street he had to correct his earlier thought— there was a man, maybe in his early twenties, crouching by the sidewalk. The man was holding a very small flashlight. Peter saw him touch the ground, point at it with his flashlight, then get up and jump on it as if to make sure it wouldn't collapse, and _that_ was the most conspicuous thing he had ever seen.

"Hey!" He called out because if it _was_ a trap, it was a really stupid one, and this was Iraq, and this guy was clearly young and stupid and probably didn't deserve to get shot.

"Sssh!" The man replied without turning, and— was he wearing a bow tie? Peter looked at him, then at the police box and he wondered if they were related. Perhaps the box had been shipped with him inside and no one had noticed. Or maybe— "You!" The man turned to him almost threateningly, pointing at him with his very small flashlight. "Where am I?"

He sounded English. Which didn't explain anything except perhaps that he was, indeed, connected to the strangely misplaced police box.

Peter gave him the name of the street.

"Baghdad." He added.

"Iraq? I'm in Iraq?" The man looked aggravated. He turned towards the blue box. "We're in Iraq!" He told it, as if scolding it.

So he was dealing with a mad man, Peter decided. He would have turned away right then if he hadn't been so curious. The man turned to him again.

"What date?" He asked. Date, not day.

"August 30, 2008."

"2008?" The man glanced at the blue box, then started talking to himself. "Obama, Obama gets elected this year, he's brilliant. And the Bush shoe incident, but we're months too early." He turned to the box again. " _Why are we here?_ "

Peter looked around, the man was starting to draw attention to himself, and although that part was refreshingly normal, it was also potentially dangerous both for the stranger and for him.

"Hey, why don't you take your conversation indoors?"

"You!" The man turned to him. "Why are you here?"

"I saw the box."

"No one _sees_ the box."

"I hate to break it to you, but it is a very visible box."

"It is _not_!"

"It— Look, just come with me before you get us both in trouble."

The man stopped. He just stopped, as if all of his fidgeting and odd nervous energy had never been there. And he looked squarely at him for the first time. Peter met his eyes and thought he must have misjudged the man's age.

"Why are you here?" He asked again. Peter paused just for a second, he could tell it was a different question this time, but he still only had one answer.

"I told you, I saw—"

"No, no, no." The man cut him off, suddenly pointing at him with his tiny flashlight. "How?" He asked staring at it. "You shouldn't be here." He said accusingly. "You shouldn't be here at all."


	2. Chapter 2

Peter didn't normally let people manhandle him. Not unless the people in question were twice his size and had names like "Mean Joe" or "Big Eddy", but it was becoming increasingly evident that this man wasn't going to calm down on his own and Peter really needed to get them both off the street, so when the man grabbed him and tugged him towards the door of the police box, Peter went along. And when the man stopped abruptly just before opening it and pushed him against one of the walls, Peter simply held his hands up.

"You can't." The man told him, obviously having just changed his mind about dragging him into it.

"I wasn't going to." Peter replied, because being stuck in a box with a mad man was far from his idea of fun. The man stepped back, Peter watched him pace a few times and rub the bridge of his nose. Then he pointed his flashlight at Peter again.

"When did you get here?" He asked, looking from Peter to his flashlight and back.

"Last week?"

"No! _No_. When did you get _here_?"

"Last week." Peter repeated more firmly. "Look, my hotel is just across the street..."

"Shush! I'm trying to think!" Peter shushed, looking around. He saw a woman on her cellphone and a group of people whispering.

"Just come with me?" His voice sounded more pleading than he'd meant it to sound. Luckily, it seemed to work.

"All right, _all right_." The man finally conceded. The small crowd dispersed as soon as they started walking. The man looked around as he walked, alternating between glaring at him and glaring at his flashlight. And once they were across the street, he turned back to glare at the blue box.

It was a very reproachful glare, as if saying 'how dare it be Baghdad 2008, how dare you be here, how dare _I_ be here.'

Peter wasn't sure of what to think, but he was curious and he had some time to kill.

\---

He gave the man free reign over the mini-bar while he ran a search on missing people. To Peter's relief, the idea of having a snack seemed to have an appeasing effect on him. The man finally put away his flashlight, agreed to being 'peckish' and started raiding the room looking for food.

"Under the TV." Peter said when the man started rummaging into his closet.

"No pictures." The man commented, which had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Peter, who'd been starting up his laptop, turned around and pulled him away from the closet.

"Here." He said opening the fridge for him. He was more forceful than he'd meant to be, but mad or not he didn't want the stranger prying. He went back to his laptop, hoping the food would keep his guest entertained long enough for him to figure out what to do with him.

"I'm the Doctor." The man announced while unwrapping a chocolate bar. Of course he was, the man had probably spent most of his life being introduced to doctors. It made sense he'd adopted the word for himself.

"What kind?" He asked without turning away from his laptop, thinking it would be a good idea to keep him talking.

"Every kind!"

He spoke with the absolute certainty that only madmen and liars had. It was almost endearing.

"Funny," Peter said. "Doctor is one of the few things I've never been."

He could feel the man's eyes on him, and judging by the silence he could tell he was waiting for him to say something else, so he turned around to face him.

"I'm Peter." He said. They stared at each other for a moment, then the Doctor grinned at him and flopped on the bed.

"Well! Tell me about yourself, Peter." Peter turned back to his computer. There weren't any reports for missing British men, nor any reports about escaped mental patients. 

"After you." He said easily.

"Do you have any family?" The Doctor also spoke easily, sounding almost like a completely different person than the one he'd met less than an hour ago.

"Not really. Do you?"

The Doctor went quiet, and then.

"I want to order room service."

Peter sighed.

"Of course you do."


	3. Chapter 3

They didn't really talk. Sure, there were words, but there wasn't really an exchange of anything, instead they spent almost two hours dodging each other's questions. Peter enjoyed it greatly, he'd never had so much trouble figuring out someone else.

"You're not actually insane, are you?" He asked him while finishing some fries. It was a good question, and a way to avoid giving him any specifics on his job.

"Oh, I am." The Doctor replied grinning.

But he wasn't. At least not the institutionalized kind of mad. Not a danger to himself or others. Not like his father, in any case. He frowned, thoughtful.

"This room is paid for for the entire week. The couch is all yours if you feel like staying."

"Why?" The Doctor was looking at him intently. "I'm a stranger, you barely know me. I could be dangerous." He paused momentarily, then added. "I could be a _spy_." 

There was a childish sort of glee on the way he'd said 'spy' and Peter couldn't help smiling.

"A dangerous spy." Peter said. "Are you hiding poison inside your totally inconspicuous bow tie?"

"HEY!" The Doctor's hands immediately flew up to straighten the bow tie in question. "Bow ties are _cool_."

Peter hadn't _really_ laughed in years. But he laughed then. He should have been more careful, he should have considered the possibility that this man was just a really good actor. He could have been police, hell he could have even been _Scotland Yard_ , Peter had been messing around in London a few months back. But he wasn't concerned at all, he knew almost instinctively that whatever this stranger's motives were, he didn't mean any harm.

The Doctor didn't spend the night in the room. Peter wasn't disappointed when he woke up to find him gone, he looked through his stuff to make sure nothing was missing, then hit the shower.

When he came out, a towel wrapped around his middle, the Doctor was lying on his bed watching TV.

"Morning!" He greeted, holding out a bag of chips to him. "Crisps?"

Peter stared at him. Opened his mouth, closed it and stared some more.

"You better get dressed." The Doctor said seriously. "It's chilly out."

It was much too early to ask questions, and Peter had things to do, important things that didn't involve a Brit wearing a bow tie. He got dressed while looking around the room, trying to figure out how this man had managed to get _into_ it without making a noise. He'd made sure to lock the door in the morning and they were on an eleventh floor. The window wasn't an option.

"How did you get in?" He finally asked as he was buttoning up his shirt.

"The door was unlocked. You should be more careful with—"

"It wasn't." Peter said, cutting him off. He'd forgotten to lock his hotel room once a couple of years back while living in the states; he'd been ambushed in the shower, thrown against a wall and threatened with various creative forms of torture. Sure, he had deserved it, but still! And he'd learned his lesson; always lock your door. A locked door will at least give you enough time to get dressed before having your face smashed in.

He looked at the Doctor. The man's expression was something new, between apologetic and something else, but Peter didn't have the time to decipher it. "Look, it doesn't matter. As long as you don't break anything or steal anything you can Houdini in and out as much as you want. I'll be out all day."

The Doctor jumped up, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt.

"Where to?" He asked smiling. Peter took a step back.

"You're not coming."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not."

"Oh come on, what could possibly go wrong?"

\---

A lot could go wrong, as it turned out. To begin with, the Doctor could speak Farsi. That would have been an asset, if he'd had the common sense to keep quiet about it. Peter did keep quiet, at least until the Doctor started asking questions about their business. Was it legal? Is it safe? Are you sure you can trust the American? At which point, he'd _had_ to speak up for everyone's safety. The Doctor quieted down as soon as he registered that Peter could Farsi too, and he spent the rest of the meeting studying him quietly, Peter was glad, the Doctor being quiet meant he could try to salvage the deal.

He had to promise the nice Iraqi gentlemen a discount and had sworn to keep his 'disturbed friend' out of the following meetings. The deal was still very close to being a bust, but he'd done his best given the circumstances. He was lucky he still had two other business meetings later that week, or he'd end up having to pick up an honest job before the end of the month.

"Oh, you're _clever_." The Doctor was saying as they were heading back. "You're very clever!" And then he'd stopped abruptly and turned around a corner.

Peter didn't often feel like punching people, today was an exception.

"Where _the hell_ are you going?" He followed him into an alley and found himself facing the blue police box. "... _how_?"

"Good question!" The Doctor said. Then turned around sharply, pointing at him. "Stay there."

Peter leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. He'd bitten more than he could chew with this guy and he was beginning to regret it.

When he opened his eyes again, the box was gone.

\---


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time travel happens and young Peter Bishop makes an appearance.

"Peter Bishop." The Doctor announced, studying the TARDIS monitor. "Peter Bishop died before his eighth birthday. How did I meet him just now, then?"

The logical, sensible answer was that the man he'd met was not, in fact, Peter Bishop. Except he _was_. Except Peter Bishop shouldn't have been there at all. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time _all_ the time, disturbing the course of events, altering history. No one should be able to do that— well, no one without time-traveling expertise like the Doctor himself. If a human was walking around changing things it was just a matter of time before a ripple went too far and the entire history of the human race changed and... better not think that far ahead. One thing at a time.

Peter Bishop! A genius, obviously. A very self-assured one. He could talk about any subject with confidence and he could do it in more than one language. It was very impressive, for a human. And he didn't seem to have any of the downsizes human geniuses usually had, he was very good at people, even if he didn't seem to have any close attachments... 

The Doctor stopped. No close friends, no girlfriend. He'd met those businessmen for the first time today.

Why? A smart man who liked people. A man who'd pick up a stranger from the street and try to help them, why didn't he have friends? Why was he in _Baghdad_ of all places? Peter Bishop could have been anywhere, doing anything, why would he choose to deal with dangerous people in Iraq?

According to the TARDIS' data, Peter Bishop had dropped out of high school and then he'd taken off... ran. Which contradicted the part where Peter Bishop died before his eighth birthday. He poked at the monitor, as if expecting the information to correct itself. It didn't. 

He sighed, reading over Peter Bishop's life after death. High school drop-out, one parent deceased, the other committed to a mental institution. Nothing off with those time lines, no discrepancies, Peter Bishop being alive didn't alter his parents' fate. A bit depressing, once you thought about it. So back to Mister Bishop, he hadn't kept a job for longer than two months. Which was just _odd_. Why? Why was he so keen on moving so much, on not making any lasting relationships? 

And then it hit him (quite literally, as he smacked himself upon his realization) Peter Bishop could sense there was something off, he kept moving because part of him kept telling him that he didn't belong, that he shouldn't be wherever he was. So he never stayed in one place for too long, never let relationships go past the stage of casual acquaintances. It was _brilliant_. Instead of staying in one place and pushing a few lives completely off-course, Peter met hundreds of people and pushed them only a little, and then those lives got back on track as soon as Peter left again. It explained why the Doctor hadn't caught on on it. Why the TARDIS had taken so long to bring him to Peter. Peter had been handling it on his own without even realizing he'd been doing it. And now that the Doctor was here, he could sort it out before any damage was done. Fantastic.

That didn't explain how Peter was still alive, however. But that was only a minor setback. After all, he did have a time machine.

_______

**New York 20-Something years earlier.**

The Doctor arrived too late for the funeral, but he confirmed that Peter Bishop had died and had been buried. He visited the cemetery and left flowers, then got back in the TARDIS and travelled ahead. 

He landed in the middle of the woods, spring of 1986, and he walked out just in time to see a boy walking towards the middle of a frozen lake carrying a concrete block and some rope, a minute later a woman was rushing at top speed towards him.

"PETER!"

The Doctor saw the boy sink and the woman dive in after him. He told himself to stay out of it, observe; he'd met Peter after all, and Peter hadn't recognized him so Peter hadn't met _him_ and it was important to keep time lines straight. 

Really, really important.

Crucial, even. The integrity of time and space depended on it. 

He kept telling himself how important it was to stay out of it even as he ran to help them. 

The woman had already broken the surface, but she was having trouble getting herself out, if they didn't get out soon enough they could end up with hypothermia.

"Help him!" The woman cried as soon as she spotted him. The Doctor used his sonic screwdriver to make sure that the ice could hold his weight and walked over it carefully, things would get messy if he ended up in the lake too. He made it to them without incident and helped the woman carry the boy out of the water. She pulled herself out, gasped a thank you and rushed them both into the house.

She didn't ask him any questions, just gave him instructions and led him into the house. As soon as they got there, she took over. He stood by the door, feeling a little out of place, dripping water over her welcome home mat. When she showed up again almost an hour later and saw him standing there, it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." The adrenaline was wearing off and she seemed just tired. "Please come in, sit down." She sighed, then added. "Thank you."

"That's all right." He smiled at her, trying to reassure her. "How is he?"

"Fine, he's fine. Just... confused."

"Understandable, considering the year he's had." The Doctor ventured. The woman stared at him, uncertain on whether or not to trust him. "I'm the Doctor." The Doctor continued, flashing her another smile. He pulled out the psychic paper and showed it to her.

The woman relaxed at once.

"Of course, my husband didn't tell me you'd be coming today." She paused. "I've been so rude, I'm sorry. We can hang your coat to dry and would you like some tea?"

"I would love some tea. Thank you..."

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth." He echoed. "Lovely name." Hopefully he'd have better luck with her than with every other Elizabeth he'd met.

_____

Elizabeth was a very kind woman who preferred whiskey to tea, she told him that her son had been sick; a genetic wasting disease for which Doctor Walter Bishop, Peter's father, had apparently found a cure several centuries before its time. After his recovery, Peter had been confused, convinced that he came from a world at the bottom of the lake.

When the Doctor asked why Peter would focus on the lake, Elizabeth explained that Walter and Peter had had an accident, they had both almost drowned. This had happened shortly before his recovery. It made sense, as far as cover stories went.

"She's lying!" An angry voice cried from the staircase. The accusation came followed by quick steps upstairs and a door being slammed. Elizabeth looked tired and pained.

"I... " she trailed off, not sure of how to continue.

"May I speak with him?" The Doctor asked completely discarding any previous plans of not getting _too_ involved.

Elizabeth sighed.

"If he'll speak to you." She said and motioned him upstairs.

Peter's bedroom door was open, but the Doctor knocked anyway.

"She'll tell you I'm crazy." Peter said opening it. "I'm not."

"Nobody thinks you're crazy." The Doctor said gently. "Can I come in?"

Peter shrugged so the Doctor stepped into the bedroom. It was a _great_ bedroom, it had all the toys. Planes, trains, spaceships... soldiers. The Doctor didn't like soldiers, so he grabbed one of the planes.

"These are cool." He said smiling. Peter just stared at him. "What? You don't like them?" Peter shrugged. "Oh, come on. You're a kid, you must like toys. _I_ like toys." He grabbed the plane, held it up and flew it towards Peter. "FWOOOSH!" Peter gave him a very reluctant smile. Progress.

They raced cars and sent men to Mars. Peter had very accurate ideas about space travel, he wanted to be an astronaut. But not before he was a cowboy and a pilot. He loved to read both books and comic books, and he had an excellent memory, which was why the Doctor found it slightly alarming when he got some basic details wrong, like authors or main character names. Elizabeth dropped by once with cookies and Peter's demeanour changed immediately, so she left right away.

"She's doing her best, you know?" The Doctor told Peter. Peter glared at him.

"She's not my real mom."

The Doctor looked at him, listening. This was important.

"Where is your real mum, then?"

Peter looked down, uncertain. Then he met the Doctor's eyes.

"He took me." Peter said. "From the other side of the lake. And he brought me here." Then he added in a whisper. "I want to go home."

The Doctor pulled him into a half hug. Even if he managed to figure out where Peter came from, he knew for a fact that he couldn't take him back.

________

He came back the next day, having volunteered to watch over Peter while Elizabeth ran some errands. It was risky, everything he was doing was risky. He had theories about Peter's origin, and he could tell things were bad when the least potentially harmful one was a modern version of Frankenstein.

"Peter." He asked him while playing Nintendo. "What do you remember from before coming here?"

Peter didn't doubt that the Doctor believed him and with his mom out he had no trouble answering.

"Blimps." He said. The game kept going, so Peter didn't catch the Doctor's expression.

"Oh." The Doctor said simply.

That confirmed it, then. Someone had the ability to cross into a different universe, and out of all the things they could have done, they had stolen a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should go without saying that this is a complete canon divergence. It also should go without saying that I have no idea of what I'm doing, but I'm having fun and that's what matters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Peter talk about aliens, the TARDIS and Peter's past.

He didn't tell either Bishop that he wouldn't be coming back. He wished them both a good evening and stormed back into the TARDIS. He had it all worked out now, Walter Bishop had taken Peter and Elizabeth knew— she had to know, there was no way a mother like her wouldn't.

Walter Bishop worked in Harvard. He'd go there and figure out how exactly he'd traveled into the other universe and he wouldn't be violent at all. No. Not even if Walter Bishop had single-handedly jeopardized the entire human race. Violence was very unlike him, no matter how well-deserved.

The TARDIS whirred and a minute later he was all set to have a word with Mr. Bishop.

He opened the doors... back in Baghdad.

"Really?" He asked out loud, because _really_? The TARDIS didn't respond, not that he had expected it to, but it was really rude of her. He'd have to take a more direct approach, then.

He stepped out of the TARDIS and closed the door just as Peter Bishop— the _adult_ Peter Bishop, turned around the corner. Peter stared at him, then turned around full circle before facing him again.

"I have a brain tumor, don't I?" He pointed at him. "I'm hallucinating you. You can't possibly be real."

The Doctor stepped closer and dropped a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"We need to talk."  
___

As it turned out, talking was really, really hard. The Doctor had half a mind to return to 1986 and explain everything to the younger Peter, kids were easier to talk to. Adults were... well. _Adults_.

Peter was clever, if skeptical, which meant he was very quick to question everything. Which meant that if the Doctor truly wanted him to listen, he'd have to be _very_ convincing.

"Okay." He said. "Okay, Peter. You stay where I can see you and don't touch anything."

"You are a very real hallucination." Peter said in a tone that suggested he was only half-kidding. "But you're not making any sense."

The Doctor led him towards the TARDIS, then snapped his fingers.

"Are you gonna make pigeons fly out of it next?" Peter asked as the TARDIS' door opened.

"Oh, shut up." The Doctor pushed him inside.

Peter stared.

There was a beat. He looked up, then down, then turned around.

"Right." He said finally. "... I need to sit down."

"Yes, yes of course." The Doctor led him to a chair by the console. He figured Peter only needed some time, he couldn't really expect every human he brought here to just take it all in stride.

"You have a... spaceship..." Peter said tentatively, staring at the console.

"Tea?" The Doctor offered.

"No. Why... you're alien." Peter sounded rather okay with the idea, which was good news. Open-minded towards alien lifeforms, good man.

"Yep."

"Carbon-based?"

"... no one had ever asked me that." The Doctor was surprised. Not in a bad way, it was just odd, people focusing on him instead of the TARDIS. "Yeah, carbon-based lifeform, the most common in the universe."

"Is that your real body?" Another unusual question. Better to go with it and let him adapt, the Doctor decided.

"Yes. No skin suits or perception fields." 

"Perception fields." Peter repeated. "I hadn't thought of that." He fell quiet again, thoughtful.

"They're rather common." The Doctor said, he was about to launch onto an explanation when Peter spoke again.

"Parallel or convergent?" He was referring to evolution now, did the Doctor's race start out the same way humans did, or did it start out as completely different and ended up looking human by coincidence? It was a good question. It was also Peter's way of stalling.

"You're trying to focus on something that makes sense." The Doctor said. "That's good. New too, I usually don't bring scientists here."

Peter smiled at that.

"What? You don't want competition?"

"Oi! There is _no_ competition."

"Because you're the superior alien intelligence." Peter stood up and started looking around, he seemed confident now. The shock had completely worn off.

"Well. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

"Let me guess, you usually bring normal people here. Kids? The very impressive alien awing children with his magic box."

"Wait, no. That's not..."

"I bet they all wonder how it can be bigger on the inside."

"And what's wrong with that?" The Doctor asked affronted, folding his arms.

"How old are you?"

"Eleven hundred."

Peter laughed.

"I pinned you at twenty-four when I first saw you, I was way off."

The Doctor studied him for a second, he seemed fine. Taking it all in stride... maybe Peter was used to weird things happening around him.

"So." The Doctor said. "About that talk..."

Peter held up a hand.

"There's a bar two blocks down, whatever it is you have to tell me, it'll be easier to believe outside of your spaceship."

He had a point, so they went out for a pint.

___

Peter had a very poor recollection of his life before his tenth birthday. He remembered his house, he remembered the lake, and he said he remembered almost drowning, but when the Doctor asked him for details Peter could only remember sensations. Being cold, his lungs hurting, someone pulling him out.

"Why is any of this important?" He asked. "Did you abduct me when I was a kid? Please tell me you didn't, that'd be creepy."

"No, no. No. I don't _abduct_ people. I don't experiment on them either, for the record." There was something on Peter's expression. "Why?" The Doctor continued. "What made you think of that?"

"Well, you're an alien. There are alien abduction stories all over. Not really a difficult association to make." Peter's tone was light, but the Doctor was sure there was more to it.

"You remember something." He said. "What is it?"

Peter sighed and shook his head, as if annoyed with himself.

"I had nightmares." He confessed. "Every night for years. Nightmares about being taken... not by aliens, mind. By a man."

"How did you get rid of them?"

"My... " He paused momentarily. "... father taught me how to deal with them." Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Are you gonna tell me why this matters?"

"No." The Doctor said. "Not yet. Let me think."

He'd repressed it all, that's why Peter hadn't recognized him, he'd forgotten. The Doctor looked at Peter, he _could_ help him remember, but he didn't know him well enough to be sure it wouldn't harm him. He took a sip of his own drink, immediately spat it out and then rubbed at his tongue with a napkin.

"You blend in so well." Peter commented as he downed his own shot.

"This is rubbish!" The Doctor was glaring at his drink. "We should have stayed in the TARDIS and had tea."

"TARDIS?" Peter sounded curious. "Does it stand for something?"

"Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

Peter got himself another shot, and then another.

"Your spaceship is a pocket dimension." He said slowly. "And you have tea in it." Peter chuckled sounding slightly drunk and the Doctor realized that maybe he wasn't taking things as well as it'd seemed.

"And it is much better than anything you can get here." He grabbed the bottle and pulled it away, deciding they'd had quite enough alcohol for the evening. A server walked past their table and smiled at Peter. Peter smiled back and motioned him over.

"Don't bring him another bottle." The Doctor said. The server looked from the Doctor to Peter.

"He doesn't look drunk," he said. "Who's paying?"

"I am." Peter said. Then he paused. "Your English is really good." 

The server smiled, shaking his head.

"Right." He told the Doctor. "I'm cutting him off."

"Hey!" Peter sat up straighter and waved a hand. "What for?"

"We're speaking Farsi, mate."

The man walked off and Peter stared after him.

"... I forgot to mention." The Doctor started. Peter held up his hand.

"Perfect British accent." He said. "That should've been a hint." 

On the bright side, he seemed to have sobered up.

\---


	6. Chapter 6

They walked out of the pub and Peter approached a stranger to ask him if he could see the Doctor. The Doctor decided not to interrupt, he watched as the stranger reassured Peter that the man wearing the bow tie was a hundred percent real and honestly, mate, you should drink less. And approached Peter once the man walked away. 

"Disappointed?" The Doctor asked.

"I'm not sure." Peter was looking at the sky, it was dark now. "Today takes the cake for most bizarre day of my life."

The Doctor smiled.

"You might be wrong."

"Alien shows up in a spaceship that is quite possible also a time machine and suddenly everyone who doesn't speak English, speaks English. If I've had a more bizarre day I'm not sure I want to know about it."

A neat summary of the day's events, good for Peter. The Doctor could have hugged him, but he didn't think they were in the hugging stage just yet.

"How did you know it was a time machine?"

"The name, time and relative dimension." Peter said. "I'm familiar enough with Einstein's theories, linear time is a human concept, time travel is possible assuming..." he waved his hand. "You know."

"I know." The Doctor agreed. They turned the corner where the TARDIS was parked, Peter stopped right outside, staring at it. 

"Yesterday, when you first saw me." Peter said just as the Doctor was about to invite him inside. Peter took a step closer to him. "You said that I shouldn't be here."

The Doctor met his eyes. He remembered exactly what he'd said and why he had said it.

"You're a disturbance in time, Peter." He gestured in the air. "Your presence is a ripple, and if we don't do something that ripple could become a wave."

"I always knew I was special." Peter chuckled, half amused, half self-derisive. "So, what are you? A Time Guardian?" He paused. " _Space_ -time Guardian?" He amended.

"Yes." The Doctor said. Then paused. "No! Not like that!" He shook his head. "That is a rubbish title. I'm a... "

"Power Ranger?" Peter suggested.

"No! Do Power Rangers—" He stopped himself and wagged a finger at Peter. " _Stop that!_ "

Peter laughed.

"Oi! This is serious! We need to figure this out, can't have you altering the time line more than it is already."

"Well, that's easy to fix, isn't it?"

The Doctor stopped.

" _Is_ it?" Was he missing something obvious again? That was starting to happen more and more often, it was a little worrying.

"Just take me somewhere else." He said it like it was the most simple thing in the world. Like he wouldn't be leaving anything behind.

"I could do that." And it was true, he could just drop Peter off in some nice tourist planet while he figured out what was going on. But with his luck, Peter would end up changing history there too. Better keep an eye on him. "But I won't."

Peter gave him a shrug. The Doctor wasn't sure of what the shrug meant, either Peter hadn't meant it, or he didn't actually care about leaving his planet behind. The Doctor didn't think the latter was very healthy, or normal.

\---

Peter stepped into the TARDIS, he tried to play it cool this time around but he couldn't help to be awed by it. He was proud of himself for the way he'd handled it earlier, so this time he let himself look around a bit more.

"So." Peter said peeking into one of the hallways. "You can't let me stay here because I'm messing things up."

The Doctor nodded, he'd stepped over the console room and was flipping switches and levers.

"Right. So what are you doing with me?"

"Working on it." The Doctor glanced at a monitor, then turned back to Peter. "First, I need to find out how you got here." He stepped closer to Peter and looked into his eyes. "Got a couple of options there."

Peter sat down, if he was gonna be in a spaceship spending time with a mysterious alien, he might as well be comfortable.

"And those are?"

"I could dig out the memories, but you'd be reliving them too." It'd be unpleasant, bringing up trauma to the surface like that. Not their best option.

"Right. Plan B?" Peter not liking plan A was a good thing, as it was obvious that the Doctor wasn't exactly sold on it either.

"We can visit your father."

Peter's reaction was immediate, he stood up and stepped right in front of him. Close enough to touch. Peter was taller than him, the Doctor hadn't noticed before.

"No." Peter said. "I'll take the mind-reading instead."

The Doctor reached up to fix his bow tie. He smiled, trying to seem reassuring.

"You would rather have me in your head than see your father?"

"I would rather get _shot_ than see my father." He paced, then added. "And I _have_ been shot, so I'm not just saying that."

There was a pause while the Doctor considered the situation, then he gave Peter a pat on the back.

"I think we should see your father." He said cheerfully.

Peter turned around and headed for the door.

"You don't want to... " The Doctor warned, but it was too late. Peter was staring out into the open space.

"So." Peter said without turning to face him. "Alien abduction."

"Oi! No, that's not—"

"You're an alien and you abducted me." Peter turned back around. "That is _exactly_ what just happened."

"Yes. Well. _Space_!" The Doctor said defensively, pointing back at the open door. "Planets! Stars! Galaxies! It's _cool_."

Peter grinned which meant that he was okay with this. Probably. Hopefully.

"You are a terrible abductor." He turned back to the door, still grinning. "Why are we in space?"

"I needed you away from the planet and from your own time line while I figure out what to do about this."

"You mean about me."

"Yes."

"I don't want to see my father."

The Doctor sighed.

"We can try plan A first." He really didn't like the idea, but Peter's shoulder relaxed as he suggested it so he supposed he'd have to go with it.

"I hope you got aspirin in here."

"Nope. No. No aspirin in the TARDIS. Aspirin is banned. But I have fifty-first century painkillers. Instant relief, you'll love them."

\---


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which repressed memories are remembered.

The TARDIS was much, much bigger on the inside. The Doctor led Peter through a hallway, stopping every so often to peek inside a room.

"... you don't know what you're looking for, do you?"

"Of course I do! I just don't know where it _is_."

"That's very reassuring, thank you."

"Oh, shut up."

Eventually the Doctor led him into what looked like an examination room. It didn't seem to be the room the Doctor had been looking for, but when he'd opened the door and looked inside he'd shrugged as if to say 'this will do.' It was _really_ not reassuring.

"Right then," The Doctor said looking around. "You sit down and I'll—" He picked up what looked like a supermarket scanner. "I thought I'd lost this!" He twirled around and held it up towards Peter.

"What is it?"

"Well it's a... " The Doctor gestured "A... " He waved it around. "It doesn't matter." He said tossing the thing over his shoulder. "It's broken."

"Is this what you're like when you're nervous?" Peter was guessing, but he was usually good at that. The prospect of going into someone's mind couldn't be pleasant for the Doctor either.

"Who says I'm nervous?" The Doctor asked defensively. That confirmed it, then.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him, the Doctor sighed. 

The last time the Doctor had done this... well, it was Craig. But he hadn't done it _properly_ , he'd just given Craig information, he hadn't been _looking_ for anything. The last time he'd done it properly he'd been wearing a different face and had been thrown off completely. He couldn't have that again.

"Right." The Doctor said. "You just— "

"Lie back and think of England?"

"You are the worst person I have ever brought here." The Doctor wagged a finger at him.

"You've abducted a lot of people?" Peter asked smiling.

"I told you I don't—" His finger-wagging got sterner. "You're not funny!"

"Sure I am!" Peter grinned. "And charming in a way you find slightly frustrating."

"Are not."

"Are too."

He was, though. Not that the Doctor would admit to it. And he was making the whole thing easier by being an idiot. The Doctor assumed that he was doing it on purpose.

"Moving on." He said sitting across from Peter. "Relax." He placed his hands on either side of Peter's head. "If there is anything you don't want me to see, just picture a door and close it."

"I'm not shy." Peter said lightly, but the Doctor could tell it was a front, Peter didn't like people looking around a hotel room he'd occupied for a couple of days, the idea of having someone inside his head had to be very stressful, although somehow not as stressful as seeing his father. The Doctor supposed he'd be finding out why.

Peter's memories were something of an organized mess. The Doctor could actually make sense of the system, which said more about Peter than about himself, really. He navigated Peter's more recent years easily. But when he reached earlier memories, things got muddier, harder to see.

There were a few years Peter had spent from hangover to hangover, apparently.

"Don't go poking in there." Peter said, which was a good thing. It meant he was following him instead of wandering off. "So. Do you do this often?"

"No. Now hush, you're distracting me."

There was a strong memory of grief, which was what had triggered the drinking binge. A phone call, Peter's mom had died. She'd... the memory was suddenly shielded, blocked from sight.

Neither of them said anything. The Doctor knew that Elizabeth had taken her own life. The more he saw, the more he could make sense of Peter's behavior and personality; he continued working his way backwards. As he made it into Peter's teens he ran into more and more blocks. Peter was shielding most of his family life. 

He got glimpses of Walter Bishop; in some he was gesturing angrily, in others he was gentle, sitting by Peter's bed, telling him not to dream. It was quite a contrast.

He paused when he reached the point where the memories stopped.

"Peter, this is when it gets difficult."

"Just get it over with."

The Doctor got to work, he tried to be as gentle as possible but there were vague memories, and then there was a period of time completely locked away. He needed to undo the lock, and once it was undone the memories would come flooding back all at once.

"This won't be pleasant." He warned.

"I guessed that much." Peter sounded almost disinterested. The Doctor knew better, of course, but it was a very impressive act.

He unlocked the memories. Peter, still a kid, accepting he would die, trying to reassure his parents. A man wearing his father's face taking him away. The Doctor focused on that, there was some kind of device... a portal. But these were a child's memories, Peter hadn't been paying attention to the portal, he'd been paying attention to the man, to the hand grabbing his, to how cold it was. After they crossed over, the ice broke.

Peter gasped grabbing on to the Doctor's arm, the Doctor pulled back, breaking the mental connection. Peter was shaking and the Doctor decided that this was the perfect time to reach the hugging stage, he leaned over wrapping his arms around him.

"It's okay." He told him even though he wasn't sure Peter was listening. "You're okay."

It took a while, but eventually Peter calmed down enough to stand up. The Doctor led him to a bedroom, sat him down and waited.

Peter was in a daze, he didn't realize he was sitting down until his hand brushed against the bed. He took a deep breath and then another. There was a comforting weight on his shoulder... a hand. The Doctor's hand. And the Doctor was leaning over him.

He focused on his breathing. In, out, in, out. It helped him calm down.

"Let's never do that again." He said after what seemed like hours. The Doctor let out a startled chuckle.

"Fair enough." He said. "Never again."

"I'm okay." Peter looked down at his hands, he was still shaking. He opened and closed them a couple of times, reminding himself that he _really_ was okay. He could deal with things one at a time. Breathing, check. Control over his limbs, check. Convincing the alien that he was fine immediately after reliving the most traumatizing experience of his life... in progress.

"Tea!" The Doctor announced suddenly, as if it were some sort of revelation. He pushed Peter down gently. "You lie down, I'll bring tea, then we can talk." Just before he opened the door Peter spoke again.

"Fifty-first century painkillers."

"... what?" 

"Instead of aspirin you promised fifty-first century painkillers."

"Right! Yes!" The Doctor sounded pleasantly surprised. Peter was pleased too, he had sounded almost like himself. At this rate he'd be done with that mental check-list in no time.

\---

The painkillers didn't only get rid of his headache immediately, but they also cleared his head and made him feel more awake.

"So." Peter asked. "Any chance I can take one of those to mass produce?"

"Don't even think about it." The Doctor had pulled up a chair and was sitting by the bed. It didn't seem right to Peter to have the Doctor sit by his bedside as if he were sick, but he didn't want to tell him that, he figured the least he argued the faster the Doctor would stop fussing.

"I'm fine now, thank you." He said. The Doctor stared at him intently which was fine for a bit, but when he kept it up past the ten second mark Peter got uncomfortable. "Would you stop that?" He asked in what he hoped was a neutral tone.

"You're not fine." The Doctor sighed, finally breaking the stare. "How could you be? You just found out you've been living in the wrong _universe_. Everything you _knew_ is false." The Doctor leaned closer, and for a second Peter thought that he'd get kissed, which would have been awkward and more than a little disturbing. Luckily, the Doctor only studied him for a second before leaning back on his chair. "You're not _fine_ ," He repeated. "But you put up a very good act."

Peter swallowed past the knot on his throat. He wondered what the Doctor was expecting from him. Anger? Tears?

"You were there." He said quietly. "Why didn't you do something then?"

"Do something when?"

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose, his headache seemed to want to come back despite the magic painkillers.

"I was a kid and I told you... you played with me." He was squeezing his tea cup too tightly, the Doctor took it from him and set it on the bedside table.

"I met you for the first time yesterday." He said gently. "Then I went back to check what had happened. I thought maybe I could sort it without getting you involved."

"When you... " Peter was trying to make sense of it. "You disappeared. You went back and met me."

"That's right! Very good!" The Doctor patted Peter's shoulder. "I shouldn't have, it was irresponsible. Can't cross my own time-line like that." He paused, then added. "I wanted to question your father—"

"He's not my father." Peter cut in.

"Right. Okay. Anyway, I wanted to visit him, but the TARDIS brought me back to you."

"... _the TARDIS_ brought you back? I thought it was _your_ ship."

"She _is_! She's also stubborn sometimes." He paused. "And clever." Another pause, then a grin. "And _sexy_."

A quiet mechanical whirr came from the walls. Peter's headache was definitely coming back.

"It's sentient." He said just to confirm it.

The Doctor beamed at him.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing written past this point and I'm nearing end of the semester grading madness, so updates will be even more sporadic. Hopefully you'll still like me anyway. Thank you reading and commenting and kudo-ing and being patient with me!

**Author's Note:**

> TBC probably. Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.


End file.
